that my problem is that i have too much to write and i can't get any of it out anymore. the words push hard against my fingertips and clog like so many cars on a narrow san francisco freeway, engines running but getting nowhere fast.
so many metaphors strike me, they all reflect urban themes: streets, cars, buildings, smog, bridges, cables, phonebooths, parking lots, meters, cops, old women trailing rolling groceries, ipods&phones&minigamemachines, busses and munis and subway entrances, fluorescent lights, blue faces unsmiling, staring forward to some unknown destination, hurrying no matter what there is another place to be as soon as possible. smoking dirty people in doorways, empty cups asking for anything, trees poking up lonely out of concrete mouths
ectomorphing endomorphs burn paper for warmth in asylum beds while wondering where their mothers are no one to help you now the white walls scream not like there ever was
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being committed to what I do-- having a passion for what I provide is really important to me. What will it take for me to get more hyped? ...
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riding home tonite i wondered where all of my neediness has gotten me, where i have ended up, what deep and fucked up hole patriarchy has du...
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so thanks, i suppose. um. i am learning a lesson here-- what have I done to other people? i wonder.
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man, rejection is blowing my mind. i'm done capsizing, i'm freezing in the arctic waters. i woke up this morning at six, proceeded t...